


Alone

by CasusFere



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasusFere/pseuds/CasusFere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another product of the Random Pairing Generator. Prompt: Smokescreen/Drag Strip/In hindsight </p><p>The Stunticons find themselves captured - and the Autobots try to rehabilitate them. Smokescreen, however, has never been quite as honorable as the rest of the Autobots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In hindsight, maybe Smokescreen wasn't the best person to attempt to rehabilitate the captured Stunticons. He really wasn't a professional, after all. He'd studied behavior patterns in order to _cheat_ people, not counsel them.

Drag Strip looked up as Smokescreen walked in, settling across the table from the bound Stunticon. Drag Strip sneered at him.

He'd picked Drag Strip to work on when the command staff had ordered him to try to work with the newly-captured Stunticons, hoping to sway the powerful-but-insane fighters to their side. Who to start with was an easy choice – Motormaster was psychotic, Wildrider and Breakdown would have to be sedated before he could even talk to them, and Dead End... Smokescreen didn't even know where to start with Dead End. His experience reading people didn't help there – everything he knew about people just screamed at him to stay away from Dead End. There was few things in the universe quite as dangerous as someone who didn't care whether he lived or died, especially one who hated your guts.

Drag Strip showed some promise, though. Smokescreen was good at seeing past masks; it was a handy skill in a gambler. It was easy to see the fear and insecurity lurking in Drag Strip's optics.

That didn't stop him from being slagging irritating.

“What, afraid that I might ruin your pretty paint-job if you didn't have me bound hand and foot?” 

Smokescreen regarded the Stunticon in silence. Prime wouldn't like what he was planning, but then, Prime didn't have to know _how_ Smokescreen did what he did. There were no security cameras in here – he'd insisted that it be that way, despite Red Alert's protests about the risks to his safety. He'd won out by pointing out to Optimus that he was more likely to win their prisoners' trust if they didn't feel like they were being watched constantly. If it also made it easier for Smokescreen to keep his methods under the radar, that was just one more benefit.

Drag Strip shifted uncomfortably under Smokescreen's continued regard, growing more and more nervous as the moments ticked by in silence. 

“What, are you so awed by my awesomeness that you can't think of anything to say?” 

The smart-ass joke fell flat, Smokescreen's expression never changing. His silence was beginning to really bother the Stunticon. He wasn't used this sort of treatment – his brothers would be insulting him back, or hitting him for being annoying, or _something._ Even Dead End just ignored him entirely, instead of just sitting there _staring_. 

He was starting to understand Breakdown a little better. He tried not to squirm under that unrelenting stare, but it was hard.

“Aren't you supposed to be asking me questions?” Drag Strip asked finally, sounding unsure.

“And what would I be asking you?” Smokescreen spoke finally with a snort. “Frankly, Drag Strip, you aren't important enough to know anything.”

Drag Strip bristled. “Slag off! I'm-”

“Don't bother,” Smokescreen interrupted. “I don't care. You don't matter to us, Drag Strip. You're not important enough or skilled enough for us to try to convert you.” Drag Strip opened his mouth to protest, but Smokescreen continued without pause, ignoring him. “And you're not a big enough threat for us to bother with the trouble of putting you in a mind-prison.”

Shocked, Drag Strip stared blankly at him. Smokescreen stood and opened the door, motioning to the pair of Autobots that were pulling guard duty. 

Drag Strip twisted around to stare after Smokescreen as the two Autobot guards walked him back to the detention area, but Smokescreen walked away without looking back.

x-x-x

Long days of isolation and only the barest of contact with his jailers had made a profound impact on Drag Strip's attitude. The only other people Drag Strip had seen since that first interview were the Autobots who wordlessly brought his energon, or escorted him to Smokescreen. 

The first few times Drag Strip had been brought to Smokescreen's makeshift interview room, he'd been belligerent and insulting. Smokescreen had ignored him, using the time to finish paperwork or read, not even acknowledging Drag Strip's existence. When Drag Strip had retaliated by becoming louder and combative, fighting the restraints and the Autobots sent to escort him, Smokescreen had ordered him taken back to his cell and left there to stew in solitude, where no matter how much he screamed, no one came.

Now Drag Strip just sat quietly, resigned to the situation. Being ignored was better than sitting alone in a cell, wondering if they'd forgotten him, if _this_ time no one was going to come... He jerked, shoving that thought back down.

So it came as something of a surprise when a hand settled on his shoulder, thumb stroking the side of his wheel. Startled, Drag Strip looked up at Smokescreen.

The Autobot watched him for a moment in silence. “It's nice to see you've finally learned some manners,” Smokescreen said finally.

_Frag you,_ was the first thing that came to Drag Strip's mind, but he held the retort back. Past experience told him that it would simply result in another interview cut short and just that much more time alone in his cell.

“Good behavior deserves a reward,” Smokescreen murmured, catching Drag Strip's chin. Then he kissed the Stunticon

Drag Strip froze. Part of him wanted to pull back, to shove the arrogant Autobot away – but his hands were still bound together and chained down. And part of him didn't want Smokescreen to stop at all. 

_But slag it all – what gives him the right – he's a slagging Autobot!_ Anger flowed through him, only to be dampened by a flicker of cold reason. 

_Remember where refusal got you before, Drag Strip. Besides, it's not any worse than anything Motormaster's done to me,_ Drag Strip rationalized, letting Smokescreen deepen the kiss. _And... and I don't want to be alone,_ he admitted to himself miserably. 

Shivering in abject humiliation, Drag Strip leaned into the kiss. 

x-x-x

“Smokescreen, a moment, please,” Optimus Prime said, catching the Datsun in the hallway.

Giving Optimus a curious look, Smokescreen followed him into his office. “What's up, Prime?”

“Some of the others have expressed concern over our prisoners' wellbeing,” Optimus told him bluntly. “Is the isolation you've put Drag Strip in really necessary?”

Smokescreen nodded. “It is. Optimus, we're trying to change Drag Strip's entire world view here – I have to teach him to trust me, and to accept me as an authority figure. Otherwise, there's no chance of ever getting through to him. The more people who speak to him, the greater the chances that someone's going to say the wrong thing, or contradict me, and undo all the progress I've made.” He stopped, giving Optimus his best earnest look. “I'm just starting to get him to really open up, and I wouldn't have been able to do that if he had the chance to talk to someone else. Keeping the outside contact to a minimum helps him bond emotionally to the person trying to treat him. It's the first step in getting him to trust us.”

Optimus nodded slowly, turning that over in his mind. “So he's responding to your counseling?”

_Yes, he is, but not in the way you're thinking._ “He's starting to. We still have a long road ahead of us,” Smokescreen told him gravely.

“But the journey must start somewhere. Very well, keep it up, Smokescreen. If we can reach even one of the Decepticons, we not only deprive Megatron of a soldier, we gain a comrade.”

_If only you knew..._

x-x-x

Red Alert turned the disk over in his fingers, deep in thought.

_Smokescreen should have known better,_ he mused. _For all his vaunted skill in anticipating others, he should have realized that I was not going to give in quite so easy._

He'd been ordered to pull the cameras from Smokescreen's little interrogation room, and he had – and then replaced them with hidden ones. He'd seen every second of Smokescreen's 'sessions' with Drag Strip. And while he usually took the stance that the Decepticons deserved what they got, this was just... wrong. It was abuse just as much as if Smokescreen had tortured him instead. 

If Optimus knew what Smokescreen was really doing, Smokescreen would find himself in a cell right along with the Stunticons. But still... Smokescreen was an Autobot, and Drag Strip was a vicious slagger of a Decepticon. Did he deserve any better? Did anyone deserve that?

_The question is,_ Red Alert thought, staring at the disk of damning video, _what do I do about it?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another product of the Random Pairing Generator. The Stunticons find themselves captured - and the Autobots try to rehabilitate them. Smokescreen, however, has never been quite as honorable as the rest of the Autobots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I wrote this not long after the first part, but was never quite happy with it, so it got lost on my hard drive until I was digging through my backups yesterday. So we're back with the new, improved conclusion to our tale of twistedness!

x-xxx-x

  


"Smokescreen."

Glancing up at the sound of his name, Smokescreen frowned. "Red? What's up?" The Security Director rarely stirred from the base unless he had to.

Red Alert's expression was serious. "We need to talk."

_Well, that's not a good sign..._ Smokescreen straightened warily. "Sure. No one out here but us, Red."

"I know that," Red Alert snapped, but his optics scanned the area anyway.

_This is really not a good sign. He's really wound up about something..._ A trickle of foreboding found its way through Smokescreen's insides. _He doesn't know,_ he told himself sternly. _Besides, why would he care_? He ignored the little voice that answered back _because he's an Autobot._

He didn't let his anxiety show, though, standing calmly and waiting for Red Alert to speak.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Red Alert pulled out a disk. "I don't think I have to tell you what's on this, Smokescreen."

He didn't. Smokescreen stared at the disk in dawning horror. _That little fragger! He duped me! He was watching the entire time!_ "What is it?" he asked, playing dumb and stalling for time.

Red Alert's posture became more tense, if it was possible. "It's the video from your interrogations," he told him flatly. "Every breem of it."

Ice ran through Smokescreen's fuel lines. "What do you want?" he asked, managing to keep his voice steady.

"An explanation! Just..." Red Alert made a frustrated gesture. "Just tell me why."

_Because I could, because he doesn't deserve any better._ But he couldn't tell Red Alert that. "I... I don't know," he answered instead.

Red Alert rubbed a hand over his face. "Then give me a reason to not take this directly to Optimus." It was more plea than demand.

Smokescreen's mind churned, trying desperately to come up with an excuse, any excuse... somehow, he didn't think bribery would work here, but he couldn't let Red Alert go to Optimus. Faced with that sort of evidence, Prime would have to lock him away.

And deep down, Smokescreen knew he'd gone too far. In Prime's place, he'd lock himself away, too.

Red Alert waited in silence. Finally, he shook his head. "Fine," he said quietly, turning away. "I'm sorry, Smokescreen, but I can't just look the other way. You've stepped too far over the line."

_I won't be caged! I won't!_ He had to act now, stop Red Alert, or...

There was an opening, and Smokescreen took it.

He stared down at Red Alert's unconscious form, circuit-scrambler in hand. _What have I done?_

_And more importantly, what do I do now?_

x-x-x

"Hey, y'all seen Red?" Inferno stuck his head into the security center.

Cliffjumper glanced up. "Haven't seen him. Tried his room?"

Inferno shook his head. "He ain't there, and I've already tried the radio. He's not answerin'."

Shrugging, the minibot went back to watching the monitors. "Probably stomped off somewhere. You know Red, he's just like that. No one's going to find that bot until he wants to be found."

"Slaggit," Inferno growled.

"Go ask Hound. Maybe he'll have some luck tracking him."

Distracted and worried, Inferno nodded. "I think I will."

x-x-x

"Prime, we have a problem," Ratchet said over the radio.

Optimus Prime stifled a sigh. "What is it?"

"Inferno and Hound just dragged Red Alert in here unconscious." Ratchet paused. "Prime, it looks like someone hit him with a scrambler and knocked him out."

"A scrambler?" Optimus sat up, concern growing. "Is he alright?"

"Red'll be fine, once I manage to get Inferno to stop hovering long enough for me to work on him," Ratchet growled, the last part undoubtedly directed at Inferno.

"Did Inferno or Hound tell you anything about what happened?"

"They don't know; Hound says he was on the ground when they found him. But Prime," Ratchet hesitated. "Prime, it looks like Smokescreen's weaponry. And Smokescreen's not responding to radio calls."

"Understood," Optimus answered heavily. "Optimus out."

Prowl looked at him gravely. "Do you want me to organize a search for Smokescreen?" he asked. "And are will they be looking for another victim or a suspect?"

"I wish I knew," Optimus said quietly. "Send everyone we can spare – and tell them to be careful."

x-x-x

Frightening Thrust and Dirge into abandoning their post hadn't been hard – neither were noted for their dedication to duty in the face of a surprise attack, especially when they couldn't tell who or what was attacking them.

Smokescreen stepped out of the rocks, watching the two disappear into the distance. Shaking his head, he moved to the space-bridge controls. He didn't have much time; the seekers would be back with reinforcements, and the Autobots were undoubtedly looking for him by now.

Footsteps crunched behind him.

"I actually hoped that I would find you hurt or captured," Mirage said quietly, phasing back to visibility. "Inferno says that you betrayed us. I didn't want to believe it, but an innocent bot wouldn't be trying to flee the planet."

Smokescreen smiled tightly. "I've never been innocent, Mirage."

"Fair enough. Optimus ordered us to find you and bring you back," Mirage told him. "He would like an explanation."

"I'm not going back," he said, voice flat. "I won't be thrown in a cage."

"Red Alert should recover, Smokescreen. I don't know what happened, but I'm sure-"

"Red'll be fine. I.. I didn't..." Smokescreen looked away. "He may be a spastic high-strung glitch, but he's a good person. I didn't want to hurt him."

"What went wrong?" Mirage asked gently, stepping forward.

"I'm not sorry for what I did," Smokescreen said, almost to himself, ignoring Mirage. "But I should have known he was watching. He never just gives up like that..."

Mirage eased closer. "Smokescreen, whatever happened, we can work something out-"

Smokescreen's weapon snapped up, stopping Mirage short. "Somethings can't be forgiven. Don't come any closer."

"Running away isn't going to help," Mirage cautioned, raising empty hands. "You should know that."

"Yeah, well, stayin' ain't gonna help, either." Smokescreen kept his gun on Mirage as he worked the space bridge controls.

Mirage pulled his own gun. "I can't let you do that."

Hand hovering over the controls, Smokescreen turned back to Mirage. "You're going to have to shoot me, 'Raj. I won't go back."

"Don't do this, Smokescreen." Mirage's voice was soft, almost begging his friend to reconsider.

"I have to. Either shoot me, or let me go." Smokescreen stared back at him, utterly determined. He hit the button, and the space bridge started to power up behind him. He backed towards the opening."I never wanted to hurt Red. Tell Inferno that for me, alright? Tell him that I-"

Mirage vanished. Cursing, Smokescreen dove for the space bridge, but not fast enough. A hit from Mirage sent him crashing to the ground, gun skittering out of reach.

"You'll have plenty of opportunity to tell him yourself," Mirage said grimly, cuffing him.

x-x-x

"Smokescreen secured?" Optimus asked, not looking up from the computer screen.

Prowl nodded, settling in the chair in front of his desk. "He is. And I asked Ironhide to move Drag Strip back in with the other Stunticons."

"I saw," Optimus rumbled tiredly, nodding to the computer. On-screen was a security feed from the brig, showing the two cells holding the Stunticons. Drag Strip could barely be seen sandwiched between Dead End and a snoozing Wildrider, curled up against Breakdown.

Leaning back in his chair, Optimus sighed. "I'm not sure what to do," he admitted. "I can't just ignore what happened, but telling everyone..."

"Would be blow to morale," Prowl finished. Optimus nodded. "But punishing Smokescreen without telling them _something_ could conceivably cause just as much damage."

"Caught between a bad choice and a worse one," Optimus said darkly. "And no matter what way we choose, nothing good can come of it."

There wasn't much Prowl could say to that. "Whatever you choose, I'm behind you, Optimus," Prowl told him finally.

"Thank you, Prowl." Optimus rubbed a hand over his face. "Call a meeting for the officers; I'll speak to them first. We might as well get this over with."


End file.
